Something We Can Do With Our Fingers
by Style Marshlovski
Summary: South Park's super best couple can't seem to shake their boy band past, but that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Written for SmallNeko [Spoiler for "Something You Can Do With Your Finger"]


**A/N:** Today is my 30th birthday O-: Not only that, but it's also Friday the 13th, and there'll be a full moon tonight O_O Plus, I completely forgot about renewing my driver's license, so I have to do that this morning .\ _ /.

Anyway, this fic is in response to a Stylish request from **SmallNeko**. I was once again lucky enough to get the starting idea from a dream.

* * *

"Kyle, get out here!" Stan called to me.

"No!" I shouted from inside the Hot Topic dressing room.

"Come on, let me see!" he begged.

"I look stupid!"

"If you don't come out, I'm coming in," he threatened. Yeah, _that _wouldn't look perverted.

Not wanting to make the tatted sales rep suspicious, I grudgingly stepped out in the getup my emo boyfriend picked for me: a pair of tight red pleather pants with a matching red pleather jacket and red studded belt. His ensemble was pretty much the same, except in black. "Tell me again why we're wearing these."

"We're dressing up to go out clubbing, remember? Now that we're 18, we're finally old enough to get into a real club. And we want people to notice us, don't we?"

"Well, why couldn't _I _wear the black?" I griped.

"'Cause then our outfits wouldn't match our hair," Stan grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "We could've at least gone with real leather. I wouldn't mind shelling out for it to avoid sweating my balls off."

"No way, dude," he answered indignantly. "A poor, defenseless cow shouldn't have to die just so we can be a little more comfortable." It was no use arguing with Stan when animal rights were involved.

After we changed back into our regular clothes, we paid for our merchandise and left to walk around the mall for a while. "Oh, wait!" Stan ran over to sit on a bench.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he rummaged through his Hot Topic bag.

"I'm gonna wear my jacket now. Why should I have to wait 'til we get to the club to look chic?"

"_Chic_?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you, a runway model?"

"_You _tell _me_." He stood up holding the jacket over his shoulder and catwalked over to me, posing with a hand on his hips before turning around again.

"God…" I facepalmed.

"We could do it, Ky," Stan said as he slipped into his new jacket and zipped it up. "The two of us could become models. We have the height, the build, and the youth. Plus, most people assume male models are gay anyway, so we'd never have to bother coming out."

"How can I argue with _that _logic?" I asked sarcastically.

We spent our time browsing different shops. I looked at some of the new console games, while Stan went to check for any John Elway memorabilia the sporting goods store might have. He even tried dragging me into the piercing place so we could get matching ear studs, but I used my Jewish upbringing as an excuse not to get pierced. I'm not even really sure if it applies to earrings, but I wasn't about to tell _him _that.

It wasn't until we were in the music store that things really got interesting. While we were rifling through the alternative section, we heard somebody yell from a few aisles over, "Oh my God, it's Fingerbang!" In a matter of moments, a crowd of girls all in our age range had surrounded us.

"No, we're not Fingerbang," I held my hands up. "We're Kyle and Stan."

"Yeah," Stan backed me up. "That whole thing was really Cartman's idea."

"Can I have your autographs?" one of them asked.

"Me first!" another shouted.

They all started opening their purses and pulling out pens, shoving them in our faces and begging us to brand them.

"Dude, let's get outta here!" Stan grabbed my arm and we raced out to his red Corvette Stingray convertible.

We managed to lose them in the parking garage when we ran up the stairs to the top level. I was pretty out of breath when we finishing climbing, but Stan _really _seemed in bad shape. He was panting so heavily that he had to use his emergency inhaler.

"Better?" I asked after a minute.

"I don't know," he struggled to speak. "I feel really hot."

I touched his forehead. "God, you're burning up!" Big surprise after all that running around in a sweaty pleather jacket over a winter coat. I told him to take off his hat and quickly helped him strip his upper body down to his white undershirt. "Give me your keys—I'm driving."

"But you don't know how to drive a stick shift," he protested.

"Well, I guess I'll have to be a fast learner." I held out my hand until he reluctantly fished them out of his jeans for me. I started up the car and put the top down so Stan could get as much cool air as possible, then we were off.

* * *

It was a pretty bumpy ride to my house (I obviously need a lot more practice with this whole clutch and gear-shifting thing). I gave Stan a hand getting out of his seat, then I let him lean on me as I led him up to my room. After laying him down on my bed, I opened the window to get a nice breeze coming in, then I continued to remove the rest of his clothes.

"Hey, at least buy me dinner first," he laughed weakly.

"I'll go get you some water." I made sure to put plenty of ice cubes in the glass so it could be as cold as possible as he drank it. "I told you those jackets were hot," I scolded him.

"_We're _the hot ones, Kyle," he joked. "After all, it's the man who makes the clothes."

"This isn't funny, Stan. You really scared me." I looked away. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you," I said softly.

He gave me a gentle smile. "Come here," he invited me to lie down with him. "I hate making you worry like this. I promise I'll listen to you from now on."

I actually chuckled at that. "No, you won't."

"Let's just pretend I will," he laced his fingers in mine.

I bent down and kissed his forehead.

"You're such a sweetheart," he cooed.

"Calm down, I'm just checking your temperature."

He pouted when he realized my gesture was more medical than romantic, so I started combing through his silky black hair with my free hand. "You know I love you, asshat," I smiled wryly.

"Only yours, Ky," he responded. "I'd wear your ass as a hat for all eternity," he said in a suave voice.

It was a few moments before we both busted out laughing. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face!" I wiped away tears of hilarity.

"Hey!" he whined. "Go back to stroking my hair. Your fingers feel good."

Suddenly, I got a mischievous gleam in my eye. I leaned down and whispered sultrily in his ear, "I know something else we can do with our fingers."

"Yeah?" he perked up.

"Oh yeah," I smirked…

* * *

So there we stood in our faux leather outfits. Our jackets were left unzipped revealing our bare chests underneath.

"You ready?" I asked.

"Let's do it," Stan nodded in agreement.

"Hit it!" I yelled.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the club DJ announced, "live in person, heeere's Fingerbang!" The crowd of fellow club goers erupted into screams of joy as he got the karaoke track going and we began moving to the beat.

"Fingerbang—bang bang!" we sang into our microphones. "Fingerbang-bang—bang bang bang!" we shot our finger guns at the crowd. "I'm gonna fingerbang-bang you into my life~"

"Kyle, you like to fingerbang and that's all right," Stan sang to me.

"'Cause I'm the king of fingerbang—let's not fight," I responded.

"I'll just fingerbang-bang you e-ver-y night!" we finished to thunderous applause.

"We definitely have to do this again," Stan smiled.

"You know it," I agreed, wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hot Topic, and I wish I owned a Corvette. I do, however, own the pants and jackets in the photo ;-)


End file.
